


To Set Eyes Again Upon Your Heart

by CaptainSaltyMuyFancy



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Gods of the Arena, Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient Rome, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canon Era, Crucifixion, Friendship, Gore, Graphic Description, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Minor Melitta/Oenomaus, Minor Naevia/Crixus, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Spartacus/Sura, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28858629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy/pseuds/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy
Summary: In the wake of Spartacus's bloody uprising at the house of Batiatus, Agron is searching for his lover: a fellow gladiator named Nasir who fought for the house of Solonius. With growing responsibilities, new friends, swarming enemies, perilous journeys, and smothering grief weighing him down, Agron hovers on the brink of madness and will do almost anything to see Nasir free and safe.
Relationships: Agron & Melitta, Agron & Spartacus, Agron/Nasir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: No Sound More Glorious: In Which Nasir is One of Solonius’s Gladiators





	To Set Eyes Again Upon Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was going to be chapter 2 of "They First Met in the Arena", but it got soooooooooo long and detailed that I decided to make it a standalone.
> 
> This starts in *roughly* the same universe as TFMitA, but it diverges a bit toward the end. You don't need to have read either of these to understand the other.
> 
> The volume of research and calculations I did for this is honestly embarrassing, please enjoy the copious amounts of historical, geographical, and logistical information.
> 
> See end notes for links to maps and other supporting content. Yes, maps. That is how deep into this I got.

”WHERE?!" a man's voice tore through the night. It reverberated off the ornately-painted walls of the Roman bedchamber, smothering the sound of screams coming from the rest of the villa.

Another man's voice followed, whimpering and grunting between the sounds of snapping wood and breaking glass. This one belonged to a small older man, well into his sixties, with short, thinning gray hair and a downy gray beard. The gold chain around his neck snapped as a single giant hand wrapped around his throat. It was the hand of a barbarian, his pale eyes burning with hatred and rage and choked by dark circles of exhaustion.

"I know nothing! I am partly retired now, I do not-"

"I did not FUCKING ASK!" said the barbarian with a hard open-palm slap across the old man's face, "I know you were at the municipal stocks beneath the arena! I know you brokered the sale of the gladiator Tiberius! Tell me where he was sold to!"

"Agron," one of the barbarian's friends, Donar, called to him, "We must take leave before moon sets, Curtius's house slaves say a guard patrol stops by every day at dawn to check in with the withered old fuck."

"WHERE IS HE?!" said Agron, throwing Curtius across the room. He hit the far wall and slid down, whimpering all the way.

"I kn-kn-kn-know not of what you s-s-speak," he whined as blood poured from his nose.

"THE SYRIAN!" Agron screamed back. He grabbed the old man by his scant hair and threw him across the bedchamber once more before picking him back up by the throat, staring into his eyes as he panted, "The gladiator Tiberius, the Syrian with long black hair, from the ludus of Solonius; you brokered his sale to a private buyer, at the municipal stocks. Tell me who you sold him to, or I will gouge out your fucking eyes."

Since escaping from the house of Batiatus, Agron, his fellow fugitives, and their leader Spartacus had been laying low, trying to figure out their next steps. During this time, Agron had scoured the city and interrogated municipal leaders, slavers, arena staff, and anyone else he thought might know how to find his lover. Nasir, who the Romans called Tiberius, was a promising hoplomachus from the ludus of Marcus Decius Solonius, until the latter was executed for the murder of the magistrate. All of Solonius's "property" was seized and held at the municipal stocks within Capua's arena, from where he was sold.

"I d-d-d-don't-"

Agron withdrew his dagger, a pugio he took from a Roman mercenary he killed recently, and angled it between the old man's eyes. "Which one first?"

"I know not his name, I swear!" Curtius sobbed, "He sent an intermediary to bargain."

"What was his name, what did he look like?"

"H-he gave no name. He said his client did not wish to journey to Capua himself. H-he was...average height, a bit stocky, with b-brown or perhaps gray hair. He took the merchandise with him when he left, I know not where!"

"Merchandise?" Agron whispered, voice cracking.

"I- i-it is just the terminology of the trade, I did not m-"

"You are the last living Roman to have laid eyes on the man I love more than anyone in this world," he trembled under the strain of containing his own rage, "and if you do not tell me something to aid my search, I am going to part your _merchandise_ from your FUCKING BODY!"

Curtius once more sailed across the room, thudding against the wall near where Donar stood watching, bored. No doubt the villa had already been looted by now, and there was little in the way of entertainment. They were under strict orders from Spartacus himself, who was in Capua on a different errand, not to fall to drink or "company", lest they lose their bearings and get captured. The other gladiators who had accompanied them were now out by the fields, filling stolen carts with bags of recently-harvested grain.

Spartacus himself had offered aid in the search, but Agron refused him; the Thracian was the glue that held their entire movement together, and they could not risk all their forces to search for a single man, no matter how much Agron loved him. Certainly it would not have been right, but it also would not have been prudent; if the rebels fell, Agron would have no way to free Nasir, to avenge his brother, or to make Rome bleed. He ripped and tore through the middle and upper classes of Capua for weeks now, interrogating Romans and taking any documents that may have referred to Nasir. Curtius, who Agron had seen attending celebrations back at the house of Batiatus, was said to have negotiated the sales of Nasir's entire ludus after their dominus was executed for the murder of the magistrate.

"I do not know!"

"He _must_ have said where!" Agron hissed, grabbing Curtius by the collar of his nightgown, "A city, a direction, a route he took, ANYTHING!"

"No, there was noth-! Wait..." the Roman paused to reflect, "H-he said h-his client did n-not want to come _up_ to Capua... That is all I know, I swear!"

Agron dropped the old man and kicked him aside to speak to Donar, "Round up the men and see them back to camp. I will be with you presently."

Donar nodded and departed.

"Wh-where is my wife?" Curtius whimpered.

"Listen to the fucking Roman inquire after the one he loves!" Agron chuckled wickedly.

"Please, where is she?"

"You will join her presently. A gift you do not fucking deserve."

He smashed the man's head against the corner of his dead wife's vanity until good Curtius was nothing but a headless body drenched in gore from the neck down.

Agron returned to the rebels' camp a few minutes after Donar and the other gladiators, greeted by the smell of stale water, sweat, and palpable irritability.

Between the more than two hundred gladiators freed from the ludus and the hundred or so house slaves freed from the villa, space was difficult to find. Some of this was mitigated by splitting up: gladiators Litaviccus, Barca, and Pietros led many to Metapontum, to either hide and wait for word from Spartacus or to go their own way. Spartacus kept just under half of the gladiators--the elite group of top-tier fighters their dominus used to call his 'titans'--and over half of the house slaves with him. But whether staying with or planning to leave the group, nearly a hundred and fifty rebels were now living on top of each other in Capua's cisterns, which screamed with the flurry of weary and frightened people trying to find their place in the world.

People like Varro, Spartacus's best friend and one of the only Romans in the ludus, who had dug himself even deeper into debt while living as a gladiator. There was no life remaining for him or his young family. So when the house of Batiatus fell, Varro had raced off to his home and whisked his wife Aurelia and their young son Janus away to the cisterns, Spartacus's chosen hide-out. Varro was devoted to Spartacus, and would have followed him to the ends of the world and back. Aurelia, however, did not share Varro's affection for the Thracian. She had not wanted to leave their home to scrape by a sorry existence in wastewater and offal, though Varro's connection to the uprising left her no choice. Her only concern now was finding a life for her son far from fear and squalor.

Varro spun her images of opportunity and honor, dignity and hope, saying the rebellion would see them to a new life. However, apparently to Varro's surprise, cisterns were not a good place to raise a small child. The gladiators' former doctore Oenomaus, their late domina's former body slave Naevia, the late dominus's former body slave Santos, former houses slave Diona and Flavia, and gladiators Peirastes, Gnaeus, and Tyronius had volunteered to scout the mountains in the east to hunt for game and a place to camp, and escort Varro, Janus, and Aurelia to her brother's home on the way. Only Santos and Flavia returned.

They had been set upon in the hills by a Roman patrol, and Oenomaus ordered them to scatter. Peirastes had proposed they all reunite at a small waterfall beneath a rocky outcropping, but Santos and Flavia were the only ones who made it there. Santos observed that Tyronius tried to fight off two Romans who made for Diona, but he was injured and they were both captured. Oenomaus, Peirastes, Naevia, Varro, Aurelia, and Janus were all unaccounted for. No clues had been found as to the missing rebels' whereabouts, and everyone was beginning to fear the worst.

"What good would your death be to Naevia if we do not pause to think?" Agron heard Spartacus growl at Crixus as the German wound his way around a mess of rebels clogging the cisterns’ passageways.

The lovers and co-leaders Crixus and Naevia had no family or true homelands to speak of, and were simply staying with the rebellion to fulfill an oath Crixus had made to repay Spartacus for saving his life during their fight with Theokoles. Crixus was not particularly interested in rebellion for its own sake, but he occupied a leadership position because his fellow Gauls, nearly half of the gladiators under Spartacus, revered him and would only follow his orders. Naevia cared about the cause, and helped rally the timid former house slaves to keep faith in their movement as she trained to become a warrior. Neither Crixus nor Naevia had greater plans beyond the rebellion, except to stay by each other's side no matter what.

"She has been from my arms for too long!" said the fucking Gaul, "I do not have time to sit and ponder! None of us do now..."

"...What is your meaning?"

Depositing some of his things in the corner where he had his sleeping mat, Agron could only half-heartedly listen to Spartacus and Crixus argue. Mood perpetually soured, he had no desire to interact with anyone that night, choosing instead to look through the documents he seized from Curtius's office. All of the tabulae cerae had been melted smooth, so the majority of what would have been standard business transaction records were gone. Still, his large fingers clumsily paged through the squares of delicate papyrus and parchment, searching for anything that might be a clue as to where Nasir was taken. He looked for Nasir's Roman name of Tiberius, as well as the words "Syrian", "gladiator", and "Solonius". But being of the lands east of the Rhine, Agron was more or less illiterate. There were simple Latin words and certain names he could decipher if printed very clearly, such as common places or titles, but that was all. Naevia, the former housekeeper of Batiatus's villa named Camila, and Santos had helped him with this in the past. However, Camila and Santos were often busy keeping the camp in some semblance of order (and in the latter's case, training), and Naevia, of course, was unavailable.

"Had you any success?" Spartacus asked Agron as he emerged from behind the curtain that sealed off Mira and Spartacus's quarters from the rest of the camp, Crixus in tow.

"Curtius confirmed what the other fucks have said; Nasir was taken from Capua by some kind of third-party negotiator to the client lanista, who dwells south of Capua."

"News to lift the heart," said Spartacus reassuringly.

"Every fucking day that passes sees heart sink until Nasir is safe," Agron growled.

"Endeavor which you undertake now."

"To no fucking result, not while we remain in Capua. There is nothing left here but constant reminder that he is yet enslaved."

Agron had wanted to leave Capua for many days already, ever since he heard reliable claims that Nasir had been taken south. As for the rebels, he had proposed they travel south as well, but he would have gone south regardless once he was sure they had a safe place to camp. In whichever direction the rebels decided to travel, Agron would accompany them until they set up an adequate base, checking along the way for hints on where Nasir had gone. Once the others were settled, he would journey to the south, accompanied by any who wished to aid him or raid the southern villas, and return to the rebels periodically with news and supplies until he found Nasir. Spartacus agreed to this course, and they were even making preparations to leave as they pondered where to travel.

But then their comrades disappeared, Naevia included, and Crixus went mad. He and his fellow Gauls, with the exception of Tyronius, had not been particularly interested in rebellion. Now even less so, as Crixus frantically searched for Naevia. He wished to stay in Capua until he found her, or at least found a lead to her. Spartacus capitulated to Crixus, supposedly in favor of searching for all of their lost comrades, and ordered all who stood with him to stay put until he gave word to depart. 

Though enraged that Spartacus had abandoned their (what Agron believed to be) wiser course to cater to the fucking Gauls, Agron could not bring himself to leave--partly out of commitment to Spartacus and the cause, but mostly out of practicality in his search for Nasir; even if he found where Nasir was located, he could hardly seize a whole ludus by himself. He needed others to accompany him as his search progressed. That way his chances of survival were higher and the rebels could still press their objectives by freeing slaves and gathering resources. They had lingered in Capua nearly one and a half weeks too long now, as Agron saw it. When he was not killing and looting Romans with Spartacus and the other gladiators, Agron continued searching desperately for any trace of Nasir, but all signs now pointed south. 

"Spartacus wishes to leave at dawn," said Crixus bitterly, "Go look for your boy wherever you like."

Agron turned to Spartacus to confirm, his heart beginning to feel a flicker of hope. While finding Nasir was his priority, Agron could not ignore his obligation to the rebellion. He had been the first to join Spartacus's mad scheme for escape and the co-architect of their revolt. Even before they struck out from the ludus, his sole concern was to see his brother Duro and his lover Nasir, both fellow gladiators, to freedom. He had intended to stay with Spartacus insofar as it did not conflict with this goal. But Duro died protecting Agron in the uprising, and Nasir had seemingly vanished after being purchased by a different Roman fuck. He now lived to see Nasir to freedom and to avenge his brother with Roman blood--and he believed keeping his word to fight beside Spartacus and preserve the movement would accomplish both. Now whenever he was not desperately searching for Nasir, he was at Spartacus's side killing Romans, procuring resources, and forming strategies--things only a group of rebel gladiators could achieve against Rome. His only hope for finding Nasir or protecting the movement was that Spartacus would finally give at least some of the rebels permission to travel.

Spartacus nodded at Agron, detecting that phantom of joy in his friend's eye. "Crixus heard in Capua that Glaber and his forces reach the city tomorrow at dawn, and he will give speech in the market upon arrival. We are to flee toward the hills in the west while all are distracted," he explained.

Agron pondered this, concluding, "I will accompany, and travel south from where you make camp. I was planning to try Neapolis, to check the warrior markets. Perhaps we could all travel toward there, take a villa to shore our resources and numbers."

Crixus scoffed, "Your boy would not be on the warrior markets. Better to try the whor-"

A sickening crack of fist against jaw ended Crixus's sentence prematurely as Agron leaped on top of the Gaul.

"Enough!" Spartacus tried to intervene, but while he stood the more experienced gladiator, he was no match for Agron in size or pure rage. Nor were Donar, Pollux, Lydon, or Fulco. With Oenomaus missing alongside Naevia, there was no doctore on hand, or anyone comparatively seasoned at prying Agron and Crixus off of one another. Only Camila could keep the skirmish from becoming a bloodbath.

"AGRON! CRIXUS!" the older woman barked, "What moves you fucking animals to such fits?!"

"The German is the animal," Crixus grumbled.

"I've already beaten one worthless old man to death today; speak such of Nasir again and see gesture fucking repeated, you shit-eating Gaul!"

Camila's hard slap across Agron's face and quick punch to Crixus's chest were all that kept the latter from launching his own offensive.

"Gratitude, Camila," said Spartacus.

"And you," she pointed in the Thracian's face, "pull cock from ass and discipline your men lest I do it myself!"

A nod was Spartacus's only reply, and Camila returned to her sleeping mat.

"This brawling serves no one's interests!" Spartacus berated, "You are adult men and need to act as such!"

"A brave assumption, that adult men act any better than unruly boys," said Melitta, Oenomaus's wife and previous body slave to their domina, before Naevia.

Oenomaus and Melitta were not drawn away by homelands or relatives, for the closest thing they had to either was the house of Batiatus and all its inhabitants. Oenomaus, once the ludus's doctore, was haunted by the many terrible crimes of the house of Batiatus, and his commitment to the cause was also his way of making up for what he believed to be a life wasted fighting for a dishonorable house. He now drilled the gladiators and oversaw the training of some of the house slaves who wished to take up arms. Melitta, once the body slave to the domina until an accident caused by Roman scheming saw her demoted, monitored living conditions and supplies. They both cared for the cause, but their primary concern was keeping their beloved, eclectic group of rebel slaves alive and well. A task that proved ever more daunting.

"How do you fare, Melitta?" Spartacus asked. The crowd dispersed and life returned to relative normalcy.

"I will be better when my husband is returned to me. Did you find anything in town?"

"Only news of Glaber's arrival. Agron proposes we make for Neapolis and set up camp while we search for our loved ones."

"Neapolis is a port city, and an important one at that. Many ships dock there to bring slaves to market on the Italic peninsula, and Roman presence will be heavy. I do not think that wise choice."

"We would not be camped within the city," said Agron, "There is much farmland east of Neapolis, with many villas within safe distance of roads and paths. We would seize a villa and camp within its walls, securing supplies and resources and continuing training for the less experienced."

"And searching for your lover..."

Agron glared at her, but she was not wrong. With each passing day, Agron begged to move south. He proposed that he could take those who wanted to accompany him, and they would search for a place to set up long-term camp while he pursued Nasir. But Spartacus, rattled by the disappearances, forbade it. _We must stand as one,_ the Thracian had told him, _or fall divided._ Agron threatened to leave anyway, but Spartacus's orders kept firmly planted the feet of most of those who would have accompanied Agron. In need of allies and reluctant to abandon his friends and the movement they had all forged, Agron grudgingly remained in Capua, continuing to search for traces of Nasir and hints on where he was taken.

"...Then we are in agreement?" Spartacus pressed before things once more spiraled out of control.

Melitta nodded.

"When do we leave?" Agron demanded, springing up from his sleeping mat.

"Take rest, brother," said Spartacus with hands raised in appeasement, "I will speak with Crixus. He and the Gauls will remain here while the rest of us make west, and we should discuss how we will stay in contact. Both of you tell the others we depart at dawn and to begin preparation efforts. Then get some sleep."

Agron nearly smiled, finally feeling like progress was being made, both for finding Nasir and for the fight against Rome.

Of course, as Agron should have known, the departure was to be nothing short of disaster.

When morning came, Spartacus was gone. To the market, the rebels surmised, to kill Glaber, the Roman shit who condemned the Thracian and his wife to slavery. Crixus, Agron, Rabanus, Leviticus, and a few of the Gauls pressed into the city to save the Thracian--and his cause--from himself. As unpopular and incompetent as Glaber was, he was still a praetor; his brazen killing would have provoked the full wrath of Rome, if for no other reason than to save face. The rebels could not let Spartacus bring down Rome's might upon them, whether he realized the consequences of his actions or not.

By the mercy of the gods--though such a thing sounded very foreign at the moment--Diona and Tyronius were there as well, awaiting public execution. The latter joined in the fight, once freed of shackles and given sword.

Spartacus made his attempt on Glaber just before the praetor gave the kill order, and the market erupted in a bloodbath. One after another, Spartacus cut down Roman soldiers trying to guard Glaber. He was joined in his efforts by Crixus, Rabanus, and Agron, while the others dispatched the lesser soldiers and mercenaries.

They escaped the market before reinforcements arrived, and Spartacus thanked them for coming to his aid when they were back in the cisterns. Crixus struck him across the mouth.

"I did not come to lend you aid, you mad fuck!" he growled, "I came to stop you!"

"You would place yourself between Glaber and what he deserves?!" Spartacus demanded.

"As you would place yourself between Naevia and me!"

Agron could not be party to the exchange, as Rabanus and Donar had taken it upon themselves to act as fucking governesses over him, standing near him at all times since they returned from the market. They likely assumed the German would be mad with rage over Spartacus's foolhardy decision that would have cost them their movement and any hope of finding Nasir.

But in truth, Agron understood Spartacus. Glaber had sold the Thracian and his wife, Sura, into slavery, leading to Sura's murder on the order of Batiatus. The newly-appointed praetor had taken everything from him, and continued to chide and abuse him even after. Agron could not guarantee that, were he in Spartacus's position, he would not have done the same for the sake of vengeance. He could not condone the Thracian's recklessness, but he understood it too well to dwell on it when plans had to be reshaped. Of course, he understood Crixus's rage as well, especially since the market incident would draw even more patrols to the city, making his search for Naevia impossible.

"Cease fucking bickering!" Melitta's shout echoed down the stone corridors as she approached the nook and threw open the dividing curtain, "Rome hunts us, and you two argue over your own interests! If neither of you will lead, stand aside and let cooler heads salvage situation!"

Spartacus and Crixus both returned to the main area, sheepishly.

"What do you propose?" Agron said to Melitta.

She sighed heavily and retrieved the map from her satchel, laying it out on the floor where all could see it. "Diona, Tyronius," said she, "did either of you see what happened to the others?"

"Blow to back of my head drew me from consciousness. Last thing I saw was Oenomaus and all men but Santos still fighting the Romans. Santos... Is he-?"

"He is here," said Santos as he laid a hand on Tyronius's shoulder from behind him, "Flavia as well."

Tyronius patted Santos's hand before he continued, "When I awoke, I was in a stone cellar with Diona and...Gn-Gnaeus..."

"Cellar?" asked Melitta.

"It looked like a cellar in a home. It was but square space of stone walls and floor, with wooden ceiling."

"It was probably one of the mercenaries' homes," said Pollux to Melitta, "That slimy shit Seppius hired local men to hunt us because Rome would not send soldiers until now. They have no facilities of their own, so they likely just used what they had available."

Melitta nodded at Pollux and looked back to Tyronius. "Continue."

"Gnaeus said he saw Oenomaus, Peirastes, and Varro and his woman run off, but knew not the direction. Stupid fuck," the Gaul whimpered, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands. Pollux clapped his shoulder to console him.

Relief flashed across Melitta's face at the news that Oenomaus had escaped, but sobered once more as uncertainty returned.

"What befell him?" Spartacus asked, coming to stand next to Agron. Diona wept from where she clung to Flavia and fellow Celt, Fulco.

"They m-made us... The Romans... When we would not answer them..." Tyronius whimpered.

"We had to torture him," Diona sobbed, "We tortured him until he was dead and then they took his body away to throw to the hogs when he began to smell."

 _Glaber and his men should pay in blood,_ said Agron internally _._ They should. But pressing matters left them no time or men for the job. Gnaeus met a horrible fate, one for which the Romans deserved to be punished simply on principle. But if there was anyone who deserved such a fate, Agron reasoned, it would have been Gnaeus. It was terrible what was done to him, but Gnaeus was a lazy lout who liked to prey on comely young men and vulnerable boys...the world was better off without him. Of all the people to lose, especially to such an end, the rebels were fortunate it was Gnaeus.

"Diona," Melitta asked, "did you see anything back in the hills?"

"Naevia-" Diona mumbled.

"What of her?" Crixus demanded, pushing through the crowd to approach Diona, "Find fucking voice!"

"Take fucking pause," Fulco snarled, coming between Crixus and the girl and shoving the Gaul back. Lydon, rolling his eyes and shooting Fulco an exasperated look, got between them before Crixus could return the motion.

"I saw her r-run toward river with little one in hand...none pursued..."

"With Janus?" said Spartacus.

Diona nodded. 

"River? What river?" Crixus demanded.

Diona shrugged irritably, "The b-big one."

"The Volturnus..." said Agron, "It runs south west and meets the sea at Volturnum."

"Near Neapolis..." said Melitta.

"Yes..." Agron confirmed.

"Oe-Oenomaus s-said if we are lost or separated, we should make for river and wait by a small grotto behind a waterfall..."

Melitta nodded. "Santos and Flavia waited from afternoon to the next morning. No one else came. We sent scouts, but they've seen no one else."

"You are certain she made for river?" Crixus pressed Diona, his warm brown eyes widened in hope and yet darkened with skepticism. It was heartbreaking, in many ways. The man was so desperate to find his lover that even the shaky words of a fragile girl gave him a spark of hope. And yet it was that hope that made Agron's heart fill with envy. He and the word were not well acquainted, and despite his sympathy for the fucking Gaul, Agron envied him.

"Did she not fucking say so?" Fulco growled back at Crixus.

"Enough," said Spartacus. His tone was decisive but his voice was absent its usual body as he tried to regain control over the rebels.

"Perhaps the others made for river as well," Lydon ventured, "They could all have rendezvoused by water's edge if their path to grotto was unsafe."

"Yes," Melitta agreed, "Oenomaus would try to find Naevia and Janus, and certainly Varro and Aurelia would search for their son. With the gods' blessing, they went to the river and encountered Naevia and the boy, and now wait in hiding elsewhere."

"Gods' blessing is luxury we cannot fucking afford to rely upon," Agron snapped, "The Volturnus is Capua's only direct access to the Mare Internum, it will be thick with transports and soldiers. We will be spotted in seconds if we go near it, as our comrades will have been if they traveled so."

"It would not matter if Charun himself ferried along its shores!" Crixus declared.

"Run blind into a river packed with rafts full of legionnaires and you will meet him sooner than you would like!" Agron snarled back, "We have survived up to now because we have drawn no attention and defeated all who cross our path. If we are discovered along a major military and trade causeway, we will be put to fucking cross!"

"We have no choice," said Spartacus, "If Naevia and Janus were last seen moving toward river, then so shall we proceed. Perhaps the others made for river's edge as well. Regardless, it will take us along our previous route: to lodging and resources to meet all our needs. Let us resume path toward Neapolis, and brighter future."

"Agron makes fair point," said Donar, "To travel within sight of the Volturnus would be to paint targets upon our backs: troops on the river would fire arrows at us, and reinforcements on land would cut us off before we could even turn tails and run."

"We are too slow to outrun them," added Leviticus, "We are too great in number to remain hidden and to make escape."

"Then we shall not run," said Spartacus slyly.

"Fuck the gods," Agron groaned, knowing the gleam in the Thracian's eye.

Melitta stared at Spartacus in disbelief as an angry murmur tore through the rebels. "You would seize river transport?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I have huge chunks of summary and introspection text interspersed between huge chunks of dialogue. This is because I don't know what I'm doing.
> 
> Curtius isn't a canon character per se, but a name and story I assigned to a common background character seen at Batiatus's parties and at least once in the pulvinus. He's a smaller older white man with thin, balding light hair, a trim beard, a gold necklace, and fancy robes. You see a lot of him when Spartacus attacks Crixus during the reception in "Legends" (1.03). His name is from the old Roman "family" (the legal and social definitions of family in the republican era were kind of broad) Curtii or "gens" Curtia, who were from a less prestigious Patrician background (Patrician=families descended from the founders and first senators of early Rome, highest social status). This meant that the Curtii family was believed to be among one of the earliest families in Rome and possibly descended from one of the first senators, but was not particularly important. So basically I have our Curtius as a lesser noble.
> 
> Tabula cera=latin for "wax tablet", Roman word for wax tablets used for business and legal proceedings (could also be called tabula cerata, I think meaning "waxen/waxed tablet"). The Roman Republic didn't have much in the way of paper, only parchment (treated animal skin) or papyrus (river reeds pressed into a thin sheet, originating in ancient Egypt). These were very expensive and too valuable to use for mundane writing, so the Romans and other ancient peoples would often use wax tablets like the one Ashur is seen using when working alongside Quintus in "Blood and Sand". It was like a wooden folder that opened and closed and could be sealed shut, with wax pads on the inside (usually two but sometimes as many as five or even more), and a stylus with one sharp-ish end for writing and one dull end (often spatula-shaped) for erasing. When the writing was no longer needed, the dull end of the stylus was used as an eraser to smooth out the writing, or the pads would be heated until the wax melted and reformed smoothly as it cooled. I think they're really cool and I kind of want to make one. UPDATE: I'm going to make one out of cardboard first and then eventually out of scrap wood if it goes well. Pray for me and my house.
> 
> Mare Internum and Mare Nostrum=Roman names for the Tyrrhenian Sea, of which there were several. Mare Nostrum means "Our Sea", so I doubt Agron would use that term, as it implies membership in the Roman identity. Mare Internum means "Internal Sea", which is much more general.
> 
> Charun=the Roman name for the Greek god Charon, who ferries a boat along the rivers of the underworld to bring the dead to the afterlife. There are a few more steps in between, but these are the cliff notes.


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